


This Morning, With Her, Having Coffee

by jenni3penny



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26045830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: The prompt given by Coolbyrne was "I get enough sugar from your lips.".
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 14
Kudos: 80





	This Morning, With Her, Having Coffee

"Come for a little sugar after all that salt?" she asked as he shut them both into her office and sighed. She gave a sympathetic wince and tipped her head. "She's a mean one."

That was a hell of an understatement.

The woman he'd been interrogating must have been somehow related to a feral cat - all spit and hiss and claws. Zero tact or class, a complete opposite to the powerhouse who was looking him over with barely veiled concern.

"I get enough sugar from your lips," he answered her question, half smirking and moving forward enough to grab at the back of one chair. He saw her roll her eyes as he settled down into it. Then he saw _both_ disposable cups of coffee. "Is that mine?"

"Maybe not after that crack, wise-ass," Jack murmured, pressing herself away from her chair and around the end of the desk. The familiar heat of her just barely preceded the equally familiar and warm scent of her, already soothing his raw and rasped nerves.

It had been too long a day to mess around.

He nodded just past her hand, indicating the extra cup. "Give it."

"Ah! _Be sweet_." She grabbed it up before he could reach for it or her, his body half forward as she lifted it away with her left hand. Her right caught his shoulder and squeezed, fingers clamped tight as she side eyed him. The upward tilt of her jaw trapped him and what was supposed to seem stubborn or intimidating really just had him fixating in her throat for a moment.

"I just want my coffee, Jack. _With you._ "

She hummed an acknowledgment up her throat, letting it wash over him in response to his subtly romantic answer. "Like on a Sunday morning?"

Hell, like any morning he could get.

"On Sunday mornings you're still snoring in bed while I'm in the basement."

She thumped him soundly in the center of the chest, knuckles first. "That's absolutely _not_ true."

***

She had been right, really.

Because at six in the morning the following Sunday he watched her make her way down the basement steps, per usual, still half asleep and slumping under the weight of a down comforter. Her socks shushed along the basement floor as a soft underscore to the repetitive sound of his handplane. Her slow steps mimed the rhythm of his long strokes and he kept moving while also half tracking her.

Watching her flop gracelessly into the stuffed chair just beneath the stairs gave him an unavoidable grin and he chuckled. She let off a grumble and growl of annoyance as she yanked the blanket over herself and tucked sideways in the seat, legs drawn up and hair tipping off the edge of the left arm of the chair.

"Cold," she declared, no other commentary necessary. Her staccato tone had said it all. Summer gave him her bare skin but fall and winter made her sexy in a cute and cuddly way, trundled in blankets and woolen socks and, usually, one of his hoodies. Late September was trying her Summer Child patience and she seemed to be losing the battle and her usual perky nature at once.

Gibbs hid his smirk away, making sure she wouldn't hear it leak into his voice. "You're under a ten pound blanket. Close your eyes."

"You're making breakfast later," she said from under the edge of the comforter, burrowing deeper before he could even respond.

He saw the top of her adorable head slant back a little before the sound of a massive yawn came from beneath the blanket, her hair escaping and making him sigh.

"Fine. Go to sleep."

***

Three hours later and he was a little surprised that the scent of a heavy breakfast snaking its way down the steps hadn't woken her. Instead she had only crowded deeper into the seat of the stuffed armchair, the thick comforter wadded warmly around her. More of her hair had escaped her cocoon and he smiled as he leaned over her, a fresh abomination of vigorously sugared coffee in hand.

Gibbs lowered the cup, passing it near where her nose was just barely sticking out. He wasn't sure how the hell she was breathing while buried, his other hand pulling enough blanket back to catch a wave of blonde between his fingers.

"You gonna come eat? Or sleep the day away down here?"

She seemed slightly offended by his presence at first, face scrunched up as she tried to triangulate her surroundings. It took barely moments for her to blink and clear the grumpy look off her features, arching her lower back as she stretched her head and shoulders back. He couldn't help but half smile when one of her legs stretched out and hooked at his knee, curling around how close he'd gotten.

Jack blinked up at him, eyes lifted and slim, a little puffy from sleep. "You're so handsome on Sunday mornings."

"You're only saying that because you can smell the pancakes," he countered, tugging the blanket back so that he could disentangle her (and himself).

"Naw, you're handsome on waffle days, too." Her backhanded compliment was lost to the quiet corners of the basement as soon as she realized that the coffee in his hand smelled sweet. Her hands both lifted toward the cup, fingers flexing in a playful grabbing motion as she mocked a puppy's whine and whimper. He rolled his eyes and handed the cup into her waiting palms, watching her make a big show of enjoying the first swallow.

That was Jack. And he adored her for it.

"See?" Gibbs offered his hand after kissing her quickly on the lips. "Get all the sugar I need right here. Now move it."

The purr that came up her throat as she took his hand was sweet but so sinful that his gut cinched tight in response. " _Yes, sir._ "

It was entirely possible that breakfast was going to be cold before they ever got to it.

He was fine with it.

That was usually about how Sunday mornings went.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a Johnny Cash quote.


End file.
